Page 41 of Thorn

“United States official, sir.” Thorn’s French accent had a decided African timbre as he’d learned the language on assignment in Niger. “I’m holding my credentials beside my face.” Thorn lifted his Iniquus identification up with its official stamps and his photograph. A badge with the Iniquus logo on the left of the wallet. It usually got him in when people thought he was the law.

“I see that. What do you want?”

“I would be grateful if you’d answer a few brief questions for me about the event that happened earlier in the day. One of our citizens was kidnapped.” All right, she held a green card, but he was willing to stretch the truth.

Thorn was dressed for the part. He wore his Iniquus uniform of gunmetal-gray tactical pants, and a compression shirt under his black jacket with silver Iniquus crest over his heart. His body was fit and strong. He’d been told many a time that he looked like he’d been cast by Hollywood for a role in a spy movie. When it worked for him, he used it. That thought brought a flash of Brigitte to mind. Dimming her light to blend when she was on the flight with Dubois, then turning up the volume to spark his interest as he headed to the hotel. Same thing. Just another tool in the tool box.

When Thorn had been over doing a tour as a SEAL, their base had housed a French unit for a short time. One of their soldiers sent him a Paris magazine article later that described the Frenchmen’s experience living with the Americans. The lines that Thorn remembered the best was that no two soldiers had the same accent, and as far as the Frenchmen were concerned, none of the Americans actually spoke English, they ended up having to write notes back and forth to save time. Standing head and shoulders above the French soldiers more diminutive size, the Americans were teased about having protein shakes and creatine served to them in their baby bottles.

They said the Americans were successful because they rallied to the fight. They could go from shorts and flip flops to full battle rattle in less than three minutes. They saw the enemy and they pounced on them. Ran straight at them guns a blazing.

But most importantly, the article said, the Americans always came to the rescue. Not individualists, they were all about the team.

Thorn, standing there identifying himself as an Iniquus operative, knew he had a team behind him.

He wondered what Juliette was thinking right now. She probably had no idea that they were coming after her full tilt. To help her or to stop her was yet to be determined.

The door swung open, but a safety chain hung in place.

A safety chain had absolutely no stopping power. It served as a pacifier to help a home feel like a safe place. But, hey, if it made this guy feel better, fine, he’d talk to him past the chain. “Sir, have you spoken to the police about the events that you witnessed this morning concerning a young woman?” Thorn held up his phone with her picture.

“No,” he said. “I’ve been away all day. I wasn’t here to talk with them.”

Thorn flipped to the next photo he’d queued up and turned his phone. “This is your child?”

“My son, yes.” He puffed up a bit, showing Thorn that he felt protective if not combative when it came to the boy. Bold move since he came up to Thorn’s shoulder and weighed about as much as Thorn’s leg.

Thorn kept his tone neutral and non-threatening. “Do you or your son have a relationship to the young woman?”

“No, none. Nothing. No. I have never seen her before this day. She certainly has nothing to do with my son.”

Thorn scrolled and brought up the film of the kidnapping and turned it, so they could watch at the same time.

The man shifted his weight back and forth between his feet. Obviously, seeing this triggered him. His emotions rippled across his face.

Thorn could use that. He scrolled back. “She’s in trouble. Look at the fear on her face. Do you see what she does in that moment?” And it struck Thorn, again, that this was a very telling frame. It spoke deeply of who this woman was. “She didn’t spin toward you looking for help. She spun around to check on your child. Her instinct was to protect your son.”

The man closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded and shut the door. A scrape of metal against metal sounded as he removed the chain. He opened it again, and waved Thorn inside.

Thorn stepped into a living room strewn with toys, the television was set to the news channel.

“Did she introduce herself to you? Do you know this woman’s name?”

“No.” He reached out to scoop up a pile of half-folded laundry at the end of the couch and pointed his chin to the cleared space.

Thorn took a seat with a nod of thanks. “Again, she doesn’t haveanyconnection to you? Your family? This little boy?”

The man perched on the edge of the coffee table. “I don’t know her. I’ve never seen her before. She was across the street at my neighbor’s house. The house with the statue of the cat on the steps.” He flicked his finger to show that he meant across the street. “My son was riding his tricycle on the sidewalk and had a fall.” He tapped Thorn’s phone. “This woman lifted him up and made sure he was not hurt. She was comforting him as he cried. I walked across and took him from her arms, then I brought him back to my yard where he played. That’s when the car came. Two men. You can see in your video what happened.”

“She didn’t say anything to you?”

“She said that cold water would take the blood out.”

Thorn stared down at the man. “Blood?”

“Yes. She cut her hand as she pulled my son from the tangle of the tricycle. When it turned over, one of the spokes broke. She apologized that her blood got onto his shirt.”

Thorn’s gaze traveled to the laundry that the guy had moved to the end of the couch. “Did you do that? Did you soak the shirt in cold water?”

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